


The Weight of the World

by mandylou67



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:57:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandylou67/pseuds/mandylou67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson sits at his desk alone with his thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of the World

Coulson sat at his desk rubbing his eyes. It had been a difficult week spent travelling half way across the world and back to try and secure what few allies remained within the Shield organisation. Several leads had turned out to be false and had in fact almost led to capture by Hydra agents. The whole situation was beginning to take its toll on him. Running ops with little or no equipment and few personnel was proving to be a difficult task. Sleepless nights were becoming the norm spent lying looking at the ceiling either running through their next tactical move or just dwelling on the close calls that his people seemed to be facing every day of the week. That alone would keep most people awake at night but Coulson wasn’t like most people. In addition to all the usual problems that entailed being director of Shield, recent weeks had shown an increase in the side effects from the GH325 drug that had been used during his ‘resurrection’. He had woken several times to find himself in the basement feeling dazed and confused, his bare feet standing in powdered plaster, a result of the alien graffiti he had drawn on the wall with a knife whilst completely unaware of his actions. He had decided to keep this from the team, that is until May had found him scribbling away one night last month. She had agreed to remain silent but only after laying down a few rules. No field work and he had to check in with her every hour when he was off base. That he could handle. But in the last few days things had escalated. The symbols were now floating around his mind in his waking hours, making it more and more difficult to concentrate. He constantly fought the urge to doodle, on paper, his desk, even the windows. Now he was afraid, scared of what he’d become. He could feel a little more of himself slip away every day. He was grateful that May shared his burden, without her beside him he wasn't sure he could keep going. They needed answers and he’d given Skye the task of researching into what the symbols meant but so far she had come up with very little. 

He put his elbows on the desk and let his head rest on his hands, closing his eyes for a moment. Rarely had he been so tired or disheartened. Being director had enforced many changes and since their arrival at the playground his office was beginning to feel more like a prison. He hated being on this side of the desk, it meant detachment from the rest of his team, it meant solitude. Sending them on dangerous missions where he was unable to protect them, have their back. He had always been right there in the thick of it, but now he was kept behind a wall of bureaucracy, a wall he was forced to hide behind, while his agents risked their lives upon his orders. It was the hardest thing he found about being director, not being in the field, not able to control a situation as it played out. Now he played the waiting game, where seconds seemed like hours as stood at his desk, radio in hand, waiting for word that all was well. Times like today, when May had gone dark for over 4 hours without contact. What had originally started out as a simple assignment had quickly turned ugly. He’d not left his office. He just sat by the radio, his stomach in knots, his heart racing, just waiting for signs that May was ok. When finally her voice broke radio silence the wave of relief had knocked him for six and he had barely kept it together. He just sat head in hands feeling like he’d been kicked in the gut. The past week’s events had caught up and he was just so exhausted. When Skye entered the room shortly after he’d stood quickly and moved to the window, trying hard to hide his distress. He had to at least look like had it all under control. Of all his agents she was the one who had changed the most since their time at the playground. Her run in with Ward had hardened her, given her purpose, but she was young and still needed the parental relationship that had grown between them. She acted tough but he knew that what had happened still kept her up at night. Now as director he had needed to distance himself from not only Skye but the whole team, something that left him even more alone. But with so few agents to work with he needed to be able to make the hard call when they were needed. With distance came clarity but at what price. And then there was Fitz, poor Fitz. Now a shadow of the man he once was, a result of his selfless act to save Simmons. Coulson had only had time to speak with him a handful of times since his arrival, yet another regret. Things had only got worse after Jemma left and the young man had suffered almost a complete breakdown, wandering around the corridors, muttering under his breath, talking to himself. His team was fractured and he felt helpless to fix things. He missed his old life, the one built on the Bus. When life didn't hang in the balance every hour of the day. Between missions there'd be downtime when they'd get together and watch a film, play a board game. It was these quiet moments that had made him feel he had family, like he belonged. But those times were gone now, he was on the left on the outside. 

As Phil Coulson stared out the window he couldn't help but think of dark days ahead. It felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Perhaps he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to SassyCassy1401 for being my inspiration.


End file.
